A Writer Is Someone Who Has Taught His Mind To Misbehave, By Olivia Salter

 

"A writer is someone who has taught his mind to misbehave."

-- Oscar Wilde

 

Oscar Wilde, one of the most celebrated playwrights and authors of his time, once said, "A writer is someone who has taught his mind to misbehave." With this intriguing quote, Wilde encapsulates the essence of what it means to be a writer, emphasizing the need for creativity, imagination, and a rebellious spirit.

At first glance, one might interpret Wilde's quote as a call to abandon societal norms and conventional thinking. After all, the idea of "misbehaving" often implies going against the established rules. However, when we delve deeper into Wilde's words, we can understand that the true essence lies in the writer's ability to explore new ideas, challenge the status quo, and diverge from the expected path.

Writers are inherently different from those who adhere strictly to societal norms and regulations. They possess an insatiable curiosity that compels them to question, challenge, and explore the depths of human experience. It is this rebellious mindset that allows them to create compelling narratives, develop unique characters, and present innovative perspectives.

In order to give life to their words, writers must free their minds from the constraints of conformity. They embrace freedom of thought, unearthing ideas and concepts that may be unconventional or controversial. By breaking away from the ordinary, they can provide readers with fresh insights and alternative viewpoints that provoke thought and inspire change.

Moreover, the act of teaching one's mind to misbehave is not a passive endeavor. A writer actively engages in honing their craft, constantly seeking to push the boundaries of language, storytelling, and imagination. They experiment with different writing styles, challenge conventional grammatical structures, and employ literary techniques that subvert expectations. It is this constant exploration and refusal to conform that allow writers to leave an indelible mark on literature and society.

Furthermore, Wilde's quote resonates with writers on a personal level. Writers often find solace in embracing their idiosyncrasies and idly wandering through the labyrinth of their thoughts. They may find inspiration in the silence of the night or in the hidden corners of their minds, where unconventional ideas arise and flourish. In this process, they develop a unique relationship with their own thoughts, nurturing their creativity and unleashing the potential within.

However, it is important to note that "misbehaving" in the context of writing does not imply a complete disregard for structure or coherence. Writers must still master the craft, wielding language adeptly to convey their thoughts effectively. It is through a deep understanding of the rules that they can effectively break them, creating prose that is both captivating and thought-provoking.

In conclusion, Oscar Wilde's quote, "A writer is someone who has taught his mind to misbehave," encapsulates the essence of what it means to be a writer. Through embracing a rebellious spirit, writers free their minds from the constraints of conformity, allowing them to explore new ideas, challenge societal norms, and create works that inspire and provoke thought. It is this ability to misbehave, to break away from the ordinary, that distinguishes writers and allows them to leave an indelible mark on literature and society.

 

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 👉Selected Prose of Oscar Wilde by Oscar Wilde

The Two Supreme and Highest Arts by Oscar Wilde

THE TWO SUPREME AND HIGHEST ARTS

by

Oscar Wilde

Life and Literature, life and the perfect expression of life.  The principles of the former, as laid down by the Greeks, we may not realise in an age so marred by false ideals as our own.  The principles of the latter, as they laid them down, are, in many cases, so subtle that we can hardly understand them.  Recognising that the most perfect art is that which most fully mirrors man in all his infinite variety, they elaborated the criticism of language, considered in the light of the mere material of that art, to a point to which we, with our accentual system of reasonable or emotional emphasis, can barely if at all attain; studying, for instance, the metrical movements of a prose as scientifically as a modern musician studies harmony and counterpoint, and, I need hardly say, with much keener æsthetic instinct.  In this they were right, as they were right in all things.  Since the introduction of printing, and the fatal development of the habit of reading amongst the middle and lower classes of this country, there has been a tendency in literature to appeal more and more to the eye, and less and less to the ear which is really the sense which, from the standpoint of pure art, it should seek to please, and by whose canons of pleasure it should abide always.  Even the work of Mr. Pater, who is, on the whole, the most perfect master of English prose now creating amongst us, is often far more like a piece of mosaic than a passage in music, and seems, here and there, to lack the true rhythmical life of words and the fine freedom and richness of effect that such rhythmical life produces.  We, in fact, have made writing a definite mode of composition, and have treated it as a form of elaborate design.  The Greeks, upon the other hand, regarded writing simply as a method of chronicling.  Their test was always the spoken word in its musical and metrical relations.  The voice was the medium, and the ear the critic.  I have sometimes thought that the story of Homer’s blindness might be really an artistic myth, created in critical days, and serving to remind us, not merely that the great poet is always a seer, seeing less with the eyes of the body than he does with the eyes of the soul, but that he is a true singer also, building his song out of music, repeating each line over and over again to himself till he has caught the secret of its melody, chaunting in darkness the words that are winged with light.  Certainly, whether this be so or not, it was to his blindness, as an occasion, if not as a cause, that England’s great poet owed much of the majestic movement and sonorous splendour of his later verse.  When Milton could no longer write he began to sing.—The Critic as Artist.



Excrept from "Selected Prose of Oscar Wilde by Oscar Wilde"


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